


Tally Marks

by Esteliel



Category: Les Misérables (Dallas 2014)
Genre: Anal Gaping, Barebacking, Bathroom Sex, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Consensual Non-Consent, Creampie, Drug Use, Drugged Sex, Gangbang, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-02 11:25:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20275141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: Javert drops the pill into Valjean’s drink. He watches as it dissolves.When he looks up, the man in the booth is still looking at him. Javert gives him a little smile, holding his gaze just for a moment as he pushes Valjean’s drink back to where it was before.





	Tally Marks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flowersforgraves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforgraves/gifts).

“You sure about it?”

Valjean gives him a small, shaky nod, his eyes guiltily sliding away.

“Okay.”

Javert doesn’t say more. He doesn’t have to. And even if he’d want to, it’s hard to speak with his throat tight and his pulse thrumming in his ears.

Valjean wants it. That’s all they need to know. And as for him—even thinking about it has him achingly hard. He’s been thinking about it for months now. Possibly for years—back when it wouldn’t have mattered what Valjean wanted.

“Okay,” he says again, and then he turns away and starts making breakfast.

Behind him, Valjean stays silent for a long moment before he starts to get their coffee. They don’t look at each other until they’re both sitting at the table, and by then Javert has himself under control again. Almost.

Not long now.

***

The club’s loud. It’s not the sort of place he’d usually take Valjean. But he does today.

Valjean’s looking a bit ill at ease, but he watches Javert with those soft, wary eyes that are all wide and trustful.

Javert swallows, his cock throbbing in his pants. He casually rests a hand on Valjean’s arm who starts at first but then relaxes, giving him a small smile.

There’s a group of four men sitting at a table in a little booth, not far away. When Valjean turns towards him, they have a good view of Valjean’s ass. Javert can see them staring.

There have been other guys staring earlier. It sent a thrill through Javert, made his heart beat faster, especially because Valjean was so damn oblivious that he didn’t even realize that people had been checking out his ass all evening.

For a second, there’s a break in the music and Valjean leans in to excuse himself. Javert gives him a little smile and encouraging nod—he’ll probably need the encouragement to brave the toilets in this place—and waits until Valjean is out of sight before he casually pulls Valjean’s glass closer.

The barkeeper is busy mixing drinks and doesn’t look his way, but from the corner of his eye Javert can see one of the guys at the nearby table watching him.

Javert reaches in his pocket and pulls out the innocent little pill that has been waiting there all evening while Valjean pressed himself against him with that soft, breathless smile of his.

Javert drops the pill into Valjean’s drink. He watches as it dissolves.

When he looks up, the man in the booth is still looking at him. Javert gives him a little smile, holding his gaze just for a moment as he pushes Valjean’s drink back to where it was before.

He could still call this off. It would be so easy.

Instead, Javert slowly gets up. He crosses the room. A mass of dancing people is between him and the bar now, and he finds a spot next to a pillar, leaning casually against it. He’s got a good view of their spot at the bar now—and of the four men.

A moment later, Valjean returns. When he realizes that Javert isn’t there, he looks a little confused, but sits down anyway. He pulls his drink close as he looks around, but doesn’t see Javert. His brow creases a little, but he’s still relaxed. He swivels around in his chair to look into the direction from which he’s come, as if he thinks that Javert’s also gone off to piss.

And then he takes hold of his glass and sips.

Javert feels something tighten in his stomach.

It doesn’t hit him immediately. A few minutes pass during which Valjean keeps glancing towards the direction of the toilets.

Javert licks his lips. The music is still loud. People bump into him. Occasionally, he feels a hand against his arm or his thigh, but right now he only has eyes for Valjean. It makes him breathless even now, the thought of how trusting Valjean is. The thought of how helpless he is.

And then, at last, someone makes a move.

Javert allows a small smile to tug on his lips. It’s the guy who watched him drug the drink. Even now, there’s the possibility that all he’s going to do is to offer Valjean his help, maybe tip off the barkeeper—but Javert doubts it. He’s watched, after all. He’s waited.

Courteous, really. 

Maybe he thinks that Javert grew bored and wandered off. Or maybe—maybe he thinks that Javert’s left him a present. That Javert gets off on leaving his prey behind, helpless and confused.

He wouldn’t be wrong there. Just looking at Valjean from across the crowd, seeing all those small signs revealing the effects of the drug, has him hard as a rock in his pants.

Valjean, who hasn’t been completely helpless even once in his life—even when he was chained and jailed—is utterly helpless now. At any stranger’s mercy.

All because he trusts Javert.

Javert’s hand drops down, lazily pressing against where his aching cock is chafing against the denim. He watches as the man slides into the seat next to Valjean, all smiles and charm. Half a minute later, he has his arm around Valjean’s waist—and Valjean, who hasn’t touched anyone before Javert, allows it.

Even from across the dancefloor Javert can see that his face is flushed.

A minute later, the man leads Valjean back to the alcove he shares with his friends, one arm wrapped around Valjean’s waist. There’s nothing out of the ordinary there—just another guy looking for a hookup finally getting picked up by a stranger. All around them, similar scenes are playing out, after all.

But no one here sees how flushed Valjean is, how his pupils are diluted, how he’s incapable of saying no to anything the man could ask from him.

At the thought, a soft groan escapes Javert. He presses the heel of his hand against the bulge in his jeans.

“Want some help with that?” someone says next to him.

Javert nods before he has even turned around, and a moment later, he finds himself pulled into another alcove. The stranger has curly, black hair—completely unlike Valjean. He’s at least twenty years younger than Valjean, too, but his mouth is hot and urgent, and Javert allows himself to be distracted for a few minutes. He keeps his eyes on the guy’s curls, watching as they bob up and down.

He can’t see Valjean from here. The knowledge makes the pleasure sharper, deeper. Whatever’s happening to Valjean right now, Valjean can’t put a stop to it.

Maybe Valjean’s sucking on a dick, just like the guy on his knees before him. Maybe they’re just feeling him up—four pairs of hands all over Valjean, touching him, maybe whispering into his ear what they’re going to do to him—

Fuck. Javert comes at the thought.

Two minutes later, Javert is leaning against the pillar again, watching.

Valjean is trapped in the alcove, a stranger sitting to each side of him. As Javert watches, one of them laughs and leans in—and then he’s kissing Valjean, who’s dizzily allowing it, who doesn’t protest when a pair of hands unbuttons his shirt.

There’s another hand trailing down his stomach. It drops beneath the table, and a moment later, Valjean trembles. Is he hard?

Javert thinks he is. They’re taking their time with him, and even though he just came, Javert feels the sharp tug of budding arousal in his stomach as he watches the way their hands slide all over Valjean. Feeling him. Touching him. Tugging on a nipple, squeezing that firm ass—and all Valjean can do is shiver at their touch, too drugged to resist or understand what’s happening.

Javert turns away and gets himself a beer. When he returns with his bottle, Valjean’s on his knees under the table. Javert slouches a little; it’s hard to get a good view, but he can see enough to know what’s going on. There’s a dick in Valjean’s mouth and a hand on his head, keeping him in place.

Is it the first dick they’ve made him suck? Or maybe someone else went first. Maybe, while Javert was gone, they pushed him to his knees and fucked his mouth and neither of them will ever know just how much come he’s swallowed today.

Javert’s cock has slowly started to ache again. Javert ignores it as he takes a sip from his bottle. Valjean is still on his knees, still sucking dick like he’s paid to do it, and Javert thinks of the warmth of his mouth and his soft, trusting eyes.

What does he look like right now? Javert knows what Valjean looks like when he’s sucking dick. He knows the spread of that mouth and the sight of those lips, swollen and red, knows how soft and warm they feel, how careful they are. Is that what the men are seeing? Or is he just a warm, convenient hole to fuck?

Javert watches as Valjean is pulled over to another lap, another cock for him to suck. He can see almost nothing of Valjean from this angle, but he knows what’s going on—it’s easy to see the signs in the man’s posture, the way he groans and slumps in his seat, the man next to him laughing and reaching beneath the table.

Javert licks his lips. He feels loose, still strangely on edge despite the guy who sucked him off. The arousal feels like a sharp-edged blade. He’s never felt it like this before. It’s bubbling in his blood, little pin-pricks beneath his skin, and all he can think of is that if he were to walk away now, every single person in this club could fuck Valjean and there’d be nothing Valjean could do.

He takes another sip of beer, keeps going until the bottle is empty. When he turns to put it down on the sticky counter of the bar he bumps into someone. A flash of dark curls later, he realizes it’s the guy who sucked him off earlier.

It doesn’t take more than a few words and then they leave the noise behind. Javert fucks him against a wall with urgent thrusts, his fingers digging into strangely slender hips as he keeps thinking about Valjean’s lips closing around a stranger’s cock, his eyes dazed and unseeing.

He had a few drinks, and together with the blowjob earlier it takes several minutes until he comes. The other guy has come as well; Javert has already turned away and tucked himself in when the boy turns back towards Javert.

Javert doesn’t wait around; they’d both gotten what they wanted. Instead, he goes back in where the crowd is still gyrating, the music just as loud. And where, he can see now, the alcove across the dance floor is empty.

He almost staggers at the shock of arousal that hits him like a punch to the gut.

There are rooms he could check, corridors he could walk. Instead, arousal burning in his veins like acid, he turns around and finds the boy coming after him out of the door. Javert pushes him against the wall and thrusts his tongue down his throat, and while the boy moans greedily, the thrill that is making his heart race doesn’t come from the way the boy arches against him.

Javert doesn’t check his watch. Not until the crowds in the club slowly start to thin. Maybe an hour has passed. The boy is drunk, high on something, and Javert is still so high on adrenaline that he lets the guy suck him off again. It doesn’t take the edge off. It can’t. Not when right now, Valjean could be moaning like a whore while he’s getting fucked by ten men at once.

When Javert finally leaves the loud interior of the club, the corridor he enters is being used by two couples, perhaps three. It’s hard to make out in the gloom. He hears groans and the slap of flesh on flesh, but none of the voices sound familiar. And even here, the movements are less energetic, less urgent. Things are winding down for the night.

Javert goes down a steep stair. In the nook behind the stair, someone’s fucking someone against the wall. For a moment, he thinks it might be the curly-haired boy who sucked him off; he doesn’t even slow down to check.

There’s no Valjean here either. Perhaps he should be worried; instead his heart is still racing with that sickening euphoria, a hundred thousand what-ifs twisting in his mind—a kaleidoscope of cocks and come and piss and the betrayed confusion in Valjean’s wide eyes.

He doesn’t find Valjean until he finally makes his way into the toilets. Even here, the harsh, fluorescent light is dim, flickering as Javert stops in the open door and stares.

Someone’s fucking. The guy is broad, blocking most of Javert’s view, but he can see enough of the ass the man’s cock is going into to know just who is getting fucked here.

Javert’s stomach twists again, the arousal so sharp and acidic it feels like he’s getting stabbed in the stomach.

Valjean’s bent over. Someone has tied his wrists behind his back with a tie or maybe a belt, and tied the end of it to a door. Valjean’s ass is poking out of a stall—and that ass is getting fucked roughly right now while Valjean’s body sways with every thrust.

For a moment, Javert can’t breathe while he watches. Then his hand slides into his pocket. The man hasn’t seen him come in; he’s too distracted by fucking Valjean’s eager ass.

Javert pulls out his phone, zooms in, turns a little until he gets a view of the guy’s cock going in and out of Valjean’s hole, every thrust rough, making Valjean’s buttocks quiver. How many dicks have gone into that hole today?

He doesn’t know. He’ll never know. The realization nearly makes him groan; he hastily puts his phone away just in time for the man to come and pull out.

The man leaves Valjean like that, brushing past Javert with a nod, and Javert finally gets a good view of Valjean.

Javert swallows as he moves closer. There are red handprints on Valjean’s hips, bruises where fingers have gripped harshly. His thighs are caked with come. Valjean’s hole is gaping open, red and sore, the stranger’s jizz dripping out of him. The sight is obscene. Valjean, usually so shy, hiding his body behind turtlenecks and suits, is utterly exposed right now, his well-used hole gaping so wide open that Javert can see the vulnerable pink of his insides, flecked with the come of uncountable strangers.

There are marks on Valjean’s ass—tally marks someone must have left with a sharpie. Nine lines, Javert counts, the hunger in his stomach so thick and heavy that he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until his phone is out and he’s snapped picture after picture.

Anyway, the number’s not correct. The guy who’s just fucked Valjean has left without adding a line. And Valjean has been gone for at least an hour. Javert has no idea when they tied him and left him here. It might have happened long after the original four men left.

Valjean’s trembling a little. At any other time, he’d easily be able to break free. Now, he can only shiver, dizzy and confused, as Javert runs a slow hand over his arched back.

At last, he grips Valjean’s chin and tilts his head towards him. Valjean’s eyes are wide and dazed. There’s no recognition in them; he can’t even focus on Javert. His lips are bruised and swollen; there’s come dried on his chin. Javert’s taken another photo before he even realizes that’s what he’s doing.

Then he releases Valjean’s head. It’s late; he should free him and take him home.

Instead, he finds himself staring at Valjean’s ass again, staring at the bruises, imagining all the strangers who buried themselves inside that hole today. The usually so tight muscle looks bruised and loose. It gapes open easily when Javert slides two fingers inside and spreads him. Valjean’s thighs tremble and a soft sound escapes him as more come trickles from him.

Javert’s heart is racing. He’s so hard he thinks he’s going to explode. Instead, with shaking hands, he unzips his jeans and then he pushes in. Valjean gasps softly but his hole doesn’t even tighten around Javert as he fucks him ruthlessly with no consideration for his soreness. Valjean is loose and wet with come inside; Javert’s hands grip his hips as he fucks him hard, buried himself inside Valjean up to his balls, again and again, imagining everyone else who has been in just as deep today, filling Valjean with their jizz.

He comes with a swallowed groan, his fingers scrabbling to hold on to Valjean’s sweaty flesh, digging into the marks scrawled onto his skin.

More come drips out of Valjean’s hole when he pulls free. Javert stares at him, the sharp, bestial lust still there although it has dulled now, and then he turns away to hastily clean himself up before he at last frees Valjean.

Valjean sways against him with a moan when Javert helps him straighten up. He doesn’t talk; he’s probably not even aware that it’s Javert doing a half-hearted effort at cleaning him up and dressing him. It could be anyone, really; anyone at all, and Valjean would have gone home with them, unable to protest as ten more strangers fuck him…

Javert swallows, then banishes the thought. Otherwise they’ll never get out of here. Valjean’s eyes are still dazed and confused, but he comes along trustingly when Javert leads him up the steep stairs.

“Let’s get you home, baby,” Javert says, and then, finally, they’re inside the car.

Even now, he can’t stop thinking of the photos he’s got on his phone.


End file.
